


Dubious Consent

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Dubious Consent Trilogy [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-10
Updated: 2008-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has always dragged Wilson into situations he didn't want to be involved in. Most normal people wouldn't consider sex games at the office to be something to expose their best friends to. Most people aren't House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dubious Consent

Wilson learned about it in one of those completely-by-accident-on-purpose statements that House made, in the middle of a conversation about something else. All he'd done was make a snarky comment about Cameron and sexual harassment, and House had replied, "If anyone's going to sue me it's Chase, since he's the one I'm actually having kinky sex with."

Wilson's first instinct, as always with House, was to dismiss anything shocking he said as an attempt to get him riled up. "Well, he does have nicer hair," was the first thing he came up with, before he realized that House wasn't kidding.

They were in House's office; he looked around to make sure none of House's staff were watching from the conference room, and that nobody was about to come bursting through the door. "Wait, what, you're not serious."

House just quirked his eyebrows, smugly. Wilson was starting to feel slightly sick. "What," House finally said, "You think I couldn't handle him?"

"You're--" Fucking Chase. Gay. "Gay?" he decided.

House frowned thoughtfully at that. "I'm not really sure this counts."

"What do you mean? You're two men having sex with each other. And that's pretty gay."

"It sorta depends on what the definition of 'sex' is."

"Oh, and what the definition of 'is' is?" Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why the hell are you telling me this, anyway?"

"You're always so worried about my personal life." House smiled nastily. "Take this as reason not to ask."

Which was fine. Really, it was fine. It was none of his business who House slept with, and apparently they'd been doing this for a while without Wilson actually _noticing_, which meant it wasn't causing any drama that House wasn't deliberately stirring up by dropping that information into random conversations with his friends. And after a week, he was pretty much able to pretend he'd never had the conversation.

Until he ignored the closed blinds on House's office and stepped through the door to look up and see Chase bent over House's desk with his pants off, House standing behind him and smirking at Wilson's expression.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare, long enough to take in Chase's _oh shit_ look and that at that angle, damn, House's hand had to be in to the wrist, holy shit. Then House leaned over and said firmly, "Okay, _now_," and the noise Chase made as he came was either a sob of total anguish or the hottest fucking thing Wilson had heard in his life.

Chase made another little whimpering noise as House pulled his hand out, latex-gloved and covered in lube, and Wilson realized he was still standing there watching. "Okay," he said, heart hammering, "I'm going to turn around and walk out and pretend this never happened."

House smirked and pulled the glove off with a totally unprofessional snap. "You do that."

* * *

Wilson avoided House the next day, which was fine, except that he was helping on House's most recent case, because when did House ever not take advantage of his ability to co-opt the head of Oncology for his own personal gain. And because House was a sadist, it was Chase who knocked on his door and came in clutching a case file, blushing to his ears.

"Um, latest batch of MRIs," he muttered, holding out the folder.

Wilson took a deep breath and the folder simultaneously. "Thanks," he said, trying not to ask anything stupid like _Why the hell are you sleeping with **House** of all people_, or _How can you **walk?**_

"Right," Chase said weakly.

"I already knew," Wilson said.

Chase had been staring at the floor; he looked up sharply, eyes darting across Wilson's face. "You..."

"House told me... last week." He shook his head. "Not really enough time to brace myself, it turns out."

That got a slight smile. "Sorry."

"Whatever." He looked down at the file, away from Chase's face. "Look, I don't care what two consenting adults do in their spare time, just leave me out of it, okay?"

"Yeah, you got it," Chase said. Wilson didn't look up until he heard the door close behind him.

* * *

And of course that didn't end it.

Because whether or not Chase was happy to have Wilson left out of it, House seemed happy to torment him. Dropped references. Sideways glances. Things that Wilson should have been able to ignore, after years of association with House, but which were setting his teeth on edge.

"Hey, Wilson," House offered one evening when Cameron and Foreman had gone home, Chase sitting at the table and Wilson only belatedly realizing he was in a room with House and Chase, alone. "Want a blowjob?"

He could see Chase suddenly freeze, out of the corner of his eye, and it took all his concentration _not_ to look. "You offering?" he said, aiming for sarcasm, maybe falling a little short.

House tilted his head and smirked. "Chase has a prettier mouth."

"You can't just--"

"I don't mind," Chase said quietly. When Wilson looked at him he was staring at the table, blushing. "Really."

Wilson took a deep breath, then another, closed his eyes. "I'm so not part of this," he protested. "Stop trying to drag me in, okay?"

Chase didn't look up. House shrugged. "Your loss."

Wilson was half-afraid House was going to demand Chase give _him_ a blowjob, right there in front of him, but he seemed to lose interest. Wilson stood there awkwardly for a second, then swallowed and said, "Well, right, we'll see about chemo for your patient tomorrow," and that was it.

That was never it.

"Sorry," Chase said when House sent him to Wilson's office with more requests for assistance the next day.

"You don't have to go along with this," Wilson snapped at him.

Chase frowned slightly, embarrassed, then straightened his spine and said, "Y'know, that's not the point."

"The point is, you can back me up when I say I don't want to be involved."

"Hey, you two have your own thing to work out," Chase said. He dropped the patient's information on Wilson's desk and sauntered toward the door. "You tell him."

Which was no good reason--no good reason at all, that the next time he was in House's office watching House doodle absently on a patient's file, and Chase walked in, and House said, "So about that blowjob offer"--it was no good reason for Wilson to look over at Chase and think for a second and say, "Yeah. Sure."

For a moment, Chase just looked shocked, and vulnerable, and Wilson felt a terrible stab of guilt at the hesitation on his face. But then he just nodded and started closing the curtains and locking the doors, and Wilson looked over to see House eying him speculatively, smirking slightly.

He was about to get a blowjob--Chase knelt on the floor in front of his chair, leaned forward, tugged at his belt--in front of his best friend, from his best friend's employee-slash-sex toy. Chase had his fly open, was struggling a bit with trying to work his briefs from the front. This was insane. He wasn't hard at all, given the situation, but Chase just ducked his head and sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue along the underside, and that was enough to get a sudden rush of blood away from his brain, intoxication and exhilaration.

Chase was methodical, bobbing his head lower on every stroke, licking firmly along the underside of Wilson's shaft when he pulled his head back and occasionally just licking circles around the head as he caught his breath. And then he leaned forward and swallowed--gagging, first try, then taking another breath and Wilson's cock was suddenly past his tonsils into his throat, hot and wet and fuck he'd only ever had one girlfriend who could do this, the rest had only ever dismissed it as a stupid porn trick if they mentioned it at all and. Chase pulled back and coughed and took another deep breath and this time when his mouth slid all the way down Wilson came so hard he saw sparks.

Chase leaned his head against Wilson's leg, taking deep breaths and coughing every third one or so. Wilson was blinking away afterglow hard enough that he started when House stood up, suddenly remembering the audience they'd had all along.

"Nice job," House said, and "Thanks," Chase muttered. Wilson looked up, and House was giving him a look that was either _Yeah, okay_ or _You idiot_ or _I see what you did there_, or a combination of all three.

"Yeah, thanks," he croaked out, just because he felt like he had to say _something_. Chase laughed slightly hysterically, shook his head against Wilson's thigh.

* * *

It turned out that giving House more blackmail material wasn't so bad after all. House tended to stop when he got what he wanted, and he'd apparently gotten what he wanted out of Wilson. The veiled hints dropped off sharply, and Chase didn't seem so... nervous.

It got to the point where he didn't actually dread checking in on House and finding Chase staying late. Nine times out of ten, House would just kick Chase out and they'd go into shooting the shit or mulling over Cuddy's breasts or one of the hundred things they _used_ to do.

And even the last time out of ten was usually harmless. Chase had to finish annotating House's cases, because House never charted correctly. Chase would sit at the end of the conference table glaring at paperwork while House made disparaging remarks about Wilson's wardrobe, or taste in women, or anything else that caught his attention.

It was one of those days--Chase finishing up the paperwork on House's latest patient, Wilson wondering if he was finally off the hook--when he saw House drop something in an empty coffee cup, pour the dregs of the pot in, and hand the cup to Chase. Wilson felt a knot grow in his stomach as Chase took a sip, grimaced, then downed the whole thing.

"I don't think that--" he said weakly, only to be stopped by House's glare. Chase looked at him, frowning, until his eyes unfocused and his head slumped forward onto his arms.

"Nice one, Doctor Subtle," House said. "You nearly tipped him off. C'mon, give me a hand."

"With..." Wilson said, moving forward automatically.

House was pulling Chase upright, stooping to get Chase's arm over his shoulder. Wilson moved to help, to get most of Chase's weight on him so House could use his cane. "C'mon," House said, "We're going to your office."

"Wha--why my office?"

"It's not a glass bubble, that's why," House said snippily.

It was easier to get moving than it was to argue. "What was that?" he asked as they dragged Chase down the hall.

"Chloryl hydrate," House answered. He pried open Wilson's office door, flipped on the light. "C'mon, over to the desk."

Which turned out to mean _over_ the desk, scattering important papers to the wind. "Hey," Wilson complained.

"Shut the door," House said. At Wilson's look, he shrugged and said, "Unless you _want_ someone looking in and seeing him like this. I mean, that was sort of the point of coming in somewhere there wasn't a window."

The knot in his stomach was back, getting worse, but he shut the door. "Okay, what is this about? Is this another one of your games?"

"Yup," House agreed. "Wanna play?"

"I am not getting involved while he's unconscious," Wilson said, pointing at Chase. House started tucking Chase's arms and head into a more comfortable position, ignoring his complaints. "I mean, what you're talking about is... is rape!"

"Not if he explicitly consented," House pointed out.

"That's--_I_ still didn't get his consent, and I don't even know if you did," he said. He was sweating. When did his office start feeling so small?

"Don't you trust me?"

Wilson opened his mouth and closed it again as House reached around and ripped the belt off Chase's pants. "You can't just--"

"You know what kind of stuff we've been up to," House said, tugging Chase's pants off his upturned ass. "And by stuff, I mean sex, and by sex, I mean he asks me to do terrible things to him out of some kind of twisted Catholic need for authoritarian discipline. Kinky discipline which he can go home and beat himself up for liking." Chase's ass was naked, now, and House gave him a slap with the belt to underscore his point. He raised an eyebrow in Wilson's direction, and Wilson tried not to watch the developing red stripe.

He was still staring when House said, "So, you in? He wanted me to talk you into it."

The statement landed like a blow to the chest, leaving him reeling. "What? I--no! No, you can't--I won't be a part of this."

House watched him for a moment, intense and deliberating. "But you wouldn't stop me, would you?"

"I'd--" Leave, he thought, which was sick and cowardly. "You're already... something."

"So you agree that I _do_ have his consent."

"For... some things," he agreed, weakly, "But--"

"And I could definitely order him to suck _you_ off."

"He was conscious for that. That's a big difference."

"Yeah, and here he specifically _asked_ for it. That's another big difference."

Wilson shook his head. "I only have your word on that."

When he looked up, House was frowning. Disappointed. "I wouldn't lie," he said, "for something this important."

Wilson looked over at Chase, eyes shut and breathing softly, and was suddenly struck by the incongruity, the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation.

"Okay," House said sharply, suddenly on a new tack, "he wants you to fuck him while he's out. And if you don't, _I'll_ do it, and I won't be gentle with him."

He flinched, and stepped closer, trying to put himself between Chase and House--which was of course what House wanted. "You--"

"Yeah," House confirmed. And while Wilson was still turning how _that_ felt over, he said in the terrible voice that lived in the back of Wilson's head, "He deserves it anyway, doesn't he."

"Oh _fuck_ you," Wilson snapped, but _now_ he was hard, and House was holding out a condom with a look on his face that just said, _Yeah, I know you that well._

It was always easier to not think around House. He snatched the foil packet out of House's hand, stepped behind Chase, fumbled with his fly. He didn't have anything that would work as lube in his office--vague reminders that 'oil-based lubricants and condoms do not mix' ruling out the hand cream on his desk--so he spit into his hand as a desperate measure.

Chase's ass was tight--so tight he worried for a moment, then remembered House's _hand_\--okay, not thinking about that. He leaned forward slowly, damn slowly, inch at a time, and Chase didn't react at _all_, and this was entirely too fucked up as he bottomed out and leaned forward along Chase's back and--Chase wasn't even _sweating_. He stayed there for a moment, snug tight with Chase warm and still beneath him, only involuntary muscle contractions around his cock and soft breathing indicating he was alive. Fuck. He'd been fucking _playing_\--Wilson pulled back and snapped his hips forward, into that friction and heat, trying not to think about--trying not to think at all.

And that made it easier to--how fucking sick he was of this, you shouldn't _do_ things like this to your friends--and he leaned forward to get a better angle and just started--yeah, feeling every slide, every inch, every time their hips collided, and it felt great, tight and hot and he _fucking_ deserved it, after all this. And he just _took_ it, one thrust more and there was that edge and he was _over_ it, panting and sharp movement and staccato pulses of yes! yes! fuck!

Oh, _fuck_.

"All right," House said before he could come to his senses, "move if you're going to guilt trip."

It almost hurt, pulling out--not the friction, just the feeling inside--and he stumbled backwards. House caught his elbow and guided him to one side, and he leaned on his desk as House took his place, like they were taking turns. They were taking turns. Fuck, Wilson thought, watching House pull another condom out of his pocket; he'd spent most of college avoiding the fraternities; how had he wound up in one?

House had to jerk himself for a second before he was ready, eyes narrowed in concentration, which surprised Wilson; he'd thought this whole thing was House's idea, something House couldn't get out of normal sex, Wilson didn't know. And now this, House carefully sliding his dick forward where Wilson had just been, staring out and almost _through_ Chase, focused on some fantasy in his head. It was surreal. He came quickly, or maybe Wilson was just spacing out.

"You going to clean up, or are you waiting for another turn?" House said.

Wilson flinched, pulled the condom off his dick, grabbed a couple tissues from his desk to wrap it up before throwing it away. No way did he want the cleaning staff seeing _that_. House was cleaning up himself, and Chase--he had Chase's pants back on by the time Wilson forced himself to look.

House caught his gaze, expressionless; jerked his head at the couch. "Help me get him over there."

"Not going to leave him on the desk?" Wilson asked, reaching forward for Chase's arm.

"I was thinking dump him on the side of the road. C'mon."

They got him curled up in recovery position. Wilson's brain was still numb. House checked Chase's pulse, nodded, then said, "Stay here a minute."

"What--" But House was already out the door. Wilson shook his head, looked down at Chase, sleeping quietly with a strangely innocent expression.

_James Wilson, you are an awful, low, disgusting slime of a human being who deludes himself that somehow nursing adorable bald-headed children through years of cancer makes up for everything._ He suddenly envied Chase. At least with Catholic guilt you got confession.

He grabbed the other chair in the room, slumped into it, tried to get his thoughts in order. He'd just...

No, head was still spinning.

God. At least, though... at least if House had been telling the truth, Chase had...

He hoped House would get back soon. He didn't think he could deal with it if Chase woke up and started screaming at him.

On that thought, Chase took a slightly deeper breath, then twitched, then rubbed at his face. "Unh..."

Wilson froze, watching him, awful taste growing in his throat.

Chase scrubbed at his face, grimacing. "Yuck. What happened?" He blinked his eyes open, slightly unfocused, and looked around. "Where..."

"My office," Wilson said quietly.

Chase's eyes focused on him, and then he winced. "My head hurts."

"Anything else hurt?" House said from the doorway.

Wilson turned to look; House closed the door, then came over and stuck a coffee mug in Chase's face. "Here, water. You're dehydrated."

Chase sat up gingerly, reached up, took the cup away from House. His fingers had barely closed on the handle when his expression went from confused to shocked. "Wait, you--I--"

House nodded.

"Oh." Chase's face was completely blank. Wilson's stomach twisted. "Oh." Chase stared at House for another moment, then pressed the glass of water to his mouth and started swallowing.

There was just too much fucking silence in the room and his blood was hammering in his ears. "Chase, I'm so--"

"_Shit_," Chase exclaimed, dropping his arms to his legs. He looked at Wilson, amazed, then back up at House. "Holy shit," he said, quieter.

House eased himself down on the couch on Chase's left, watching the younger man warily. Chase took a couple deep breaths and set the cup down on the floor. "How do you feel?" House said.

"I--just, I need a minute," Chase said. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I'll be fine, just... need a sec. Sorry."

"You know what happened," Wilson said, and that was _his_ voice, shit, sounding like he'd just been kicked in the stomach. Feeling like it, too.

"I think I can piece it out," Chase said.

House rested his hand on Chase's shoulder, and Chase just--folded, slumping backward and curling up on House's side, shuddering. Wilson stared at the floor and listened to Chase's breathing, racing panic for a few seconds, then slowly calming.

"Shoulda known if anything House would talk you into it," Chase said, and when Wilson looked up Chase was looking straight at him. He'd somehow managed to reach totally collected even while leaning on House like he was House's girlfriend or something. "Thanks."

"I--" Wilson started to say, then realized he didn't have anything to follow up with.

"Right," House said, squeezing Chase's shoulder briefly. "We're done with this."

"Thanks," Chase said again.

House pushed Chase off him, stood, tapped Wilson's chair with his cane. "He's fine. Go home and get some sleep."

"Yeeeah," Wilson said, wondering if he sounded as stupefied as he felt.

House stared him down for a moment more, then rolled his eyes. "Okay, you two talk. Let me know if you want me to score a Lifetime movie deal."

"Fuck you," Chase said.

"Not part of the deal," House said. Wilson watched as he left, because it was easier than turning around and looking at Chase.

Chase cleared his throat. "Seriously, I... kinda needed that. Thanks."

"Is there some reason," Wilson snapped, "that you couldn't just tell me ahead of time?"

He turned to glare. Chase was staring at him, confused. "If..." He chewed on his lower lip. "If you didn't want to, why'd you go through with it?"

"Dammit, Chase..." Wilson slumped further in his seat and rubbed at his face. "There are some things people just don't want to know about themselves, all right? I didn't _need_ to know House could talk me into date-raping someone."

"I'm sure he'll only use that power for good?"

"And shit, I didn't need to wonder if I'm _gay_, either. Not at this point in my life."

Chase raised his eyebrows. "You might have started wondering after the second divorce?"

"Don't start with me," he said threateningly.

"Sorry." Chase looked actually contrite. "Seriously, though? Sorry? For the whole... thing?"

"Fuck."

"Hey, I was unconscious. You should blame House."

"I _do_," Wilson said, then, "fuck. That was just really..." he ran out of words and just shook his head.

Chase nodded. Then he kicked out, knocked the toe of his sneaker against Wilson's instep. "I'll buy you a drink if you tell me about it sometime."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Why does that sound suspiciously like an invitation to fuck you at some point when you're not comatose?"

"Heh." Chase grinned. "I'd... That'd be okay. Since I haven't, I mean."

"You haven't." It took him a few seconds, but then it just added to the lead feeling in his stomach. "You--seriously, that was the first time you'd ever--House had his _hand_ up your ass, that one time."

"Yeah, but we never actually..." Chase shrugged.

"_Dammit_."

He pushed himself to his feet, exhausted from this entire ordeal but unable to just sit there. He was staring at the wreckage of his desk when he heard Chase laugh. "Don't tell me you never--"

"Yeah, great, we swapped toaster points when you were _asleep_," Wilson snapped.

"Fine, you can call do-over." Chase was suddenly at his back, radiating heat; when Wilson looked he was smirking. "'Kay?"

Wilson sighed, turned around and clapped his hand on Chase's shoulder. "Let me drive you home. I don't want you behind the wheel with any of that still in your system."

* * *

Chase stopped by with another case the next day. "House sends his regards and some weird spots on an MRI," he said, "and I guess I kinda owe you sexual favors for life, don't I?"

"Not in the middle of work," Wilson said, taking the file. "I'll call you if I want anything."

It wasn't as nice as not having gotten involved in the first place, he thought as he flipped the file open, but he supposed it was a better trade than nothing.


End file.
